


Cheap Whiskey

by storiesfortravellers



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Supernatural
Genre: Banter, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 04:46:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1128501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesfortravellers/pseuds/storiesfortravellers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, after hell, Dean has trouble with the hunt. Faith has advice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cheap Whiskey

**Author's Note:**

> For aaronlisa for fandomstocking.

Faith watched as Dean threw back his fourth shot of cheap whiskey. They had taken out a vamp nest that night. The leaders had been powerful and went down in a satisfying smolder of ash. The followers were young and begged to be let go; they had to be taken out anyway.

Dean put down his glass and smiled at Faith, cheesy and faux-charming. Faith couldn’t believe this crap worked on all the women Dean had slept with.

Though, to be fair, all Faith usually had to do to get guys was tell them she would meet them at their place. 

“You were good out there,” Dean said.

Faith raised an eyebrow, unsure of his point. It wasn’t the first time they had worked together. He knew what she was.

“You did pretty good too, for an Abercrombie model,” Faith smirked back. She grabbed Dean’s next shot and took it for herself.

Dean snorted, almost like a laugh, but kept looking down at the bar. 

“You didn’t have fun tonight?” Faith poked sarcastically.

Dean smiled and looked up. “Of course. What’s not fun about dusting vamps.”

Faith stared at him for a moment. Her smirk faded. “Oh.”

“What?”

“That’s why you’re upset. It freaks you out. When you like it too much.” She tilted her head and looked him over.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, playing with his empty glass, “What are you, like, the Dr. Phil of Slayers?”

“I’ll stake you if you say that again, pal.” She grabbed his hand to stop his fiddling and he looked her in the eye.

“When you’re born to kill things, the lines get a little blurry. It happens,” she said, all steel and conviction.

“And if nothing feels as good as killing things. Causing them pain. What does that make us?” Dean said, almost mocking.

“Damn good at our jobs,” she answered.

He let out a breath, a little laugh, and looked away. “You wouldn’t get it. You’re a force on the side of good. Literally.”

She kicked his barstool so he faced her again. “You have no idea,” she said, and he could see the rage in her eyes, the past welling up in her, trying to pull her back in. The guilt and the pleasure and the violence and the jaggedness, like a rock that’s been broken and put together too many times before. 

“Sorry,” Dean said, because he didn’t know what else to say.

She paused. Then, calmer: “It takes a special kind of person to spend all night knee deep in demon guts. It’s a blurry line between evil and bathing in evil’s blood. But you’re not even close to that line, Winchester. So don’t worry.”

“Yeah? How do you know that?” Dean asked.

She smiled. “Because if you were, I’d have kicked your ass up and down the coastline by now.”

Dean smiled then, for real. “Really,” he said.

“Count on it.” 

Dean nodded. “Okay. I’ll count on it.” 

He looked better, Faith noticed. Less… tired. 

“This whiskey sucks,” she said. “Let’s scam those dudes playing pool and get some real stuff at the AllNite Mart.”

“You got it,” Dean said, and stood up, following her to the back room full of smoke and shouts and rough men gambling on pool. They wouldn’t even know what hit them.

Dean sure didn’t.


End file.
